


This is how (I cried your name but I heard nothing)

by gustin_puckerman



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how his heart breaks. Or Barry's reaction throughout the kidnapping. Set after the events in 1x10 "Revenge of the Rogue". Mentions of Iris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is how (I cried your name but I heard nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can. Also posted on FFNET and Tumblr.

This is how his heart breaks.

Achingly.

Slowly.

Suddenly.

And it all begins with her name.

Barry remembers standing there. His feet planted against the ground, his phone light within his hand. And this is how his mind works: quickly. Hastily. Sometimes―just _sometimes_ ―not fast enough. It comes with the power, he thinks, which he comes to accept, this _ability_. To think quicker; information coming in and out so rapidly he's somewhat astounded how he hasn't lost his mind as he probably should. It's overwhelming, really. He thinks more. Sees more. _Feels_ more.

It's devastatingly painful.

The last time he feels this―and it's still not so long before―was every time he realised he'll probably never get the girl. (There's still chance, sure. But Barry finds that he actually _likes_ Eddie. And he likes Eddie when he's with her.) And there will be this quiet second that he'll take to marvel on the fact that _yes_ , yes it hurts. It hurts that he gets rejected, it hurts that the person he loves since he's thirteen (or was it twelve?) loves another guy. But he sucks it up every time and learns to deal with it. After all, there _are_ moments that could nearly make up for it. (Like Joe's supportive jokes, Cisco's exciting grins and Dr. Wells' wise encouragements.)

But _this_.

 _This_ ―(remember Joe's voice? Remember the heavy concern? Remember when those words tumble out: "Barry? It's Snart. He's- he's got Caitlin." _Remember?_ )―nearly makes him _lose_ it.

He remembers the speed that he generates through his body, his mind racing a mile a minute, recounting every laughter, every smile, every little inside jokes and prays to _God_ that there's good news. He remembers reaching the crime scene and still feels the pounding of his heart hammering in his eardrums, the looks of crystallised ice spreading over the ( _her_ ) vehicle.

"We're getting her back."

He's mad.

No. He's more than mad. He's _furious_. He's re-calculating every possible other scenarios that could've happened if he'd taken more earlier actions against Cold, and he feels like he could hunch over and spit his whole breakfast out or punch something to just get his mind to think _straight_ again. But he can't. He won't.

Barry doesn't even think he _wants_ to.

This was _his_ fault. They wanted the Flash. They just wanted him. And now they'd went ahead and got _her_. 

(There's a moment when he closes his eyes and imagines her standing just besides him and telling him that it's all going to be okay with that easy smile of hers that he's gotten used to, and Barry wants to do nothing but roar up and tear something apart.)

So yes, he _is_ getting her back.

Barry doesn't know he's able to feel that way. Not that much, he thinks. It claws on him―now that she's not here, and the image of her being even _touched_ by somebody else's filthy hands are filling his head―it gets to him. It's so, _so_ much. This worry, this guilt; it fills his chest up in this burning sensation, one that he thinks he won't ever get rid of if he doesn't get to her in time. He just wants her back.

He wants her back.

 _Now_.

And then the television lights up and there's her. That's all he could register. And she's well and fine and fighting and he almost wants to laugh _because of course she would_ , but he doesn't. He won't. And then she goes on ahead and says, "No, don't come for me. Stay away!"

And Barry nearly loses it again.

How could she say that? _How could she say that?_

Does she honestly think he won't come for her, not after what they've been through? So yes, he's _pissed_. He's still surprised how rapidly his anger is bursting right through his veins, and his steps turns harsher, colder―and he just wants her. He wants her.

Safe and sound and scolding him off when he gets himself injured again.

Because at least then she'll be there.

Right within his reach.

Right where she's supposed to be.

So he stares at his phone at the image of her smiling into the camera; and under her grin were a set of numbers he can't call, and it takes him a breath to register how much his throat has tighten up, his chest squeezing the needed oxygen out of him. "Don't worry," he murmurs to himself when he sits down, counting the hours away, his thumb brushing over the face that he wishes on the moment he could touch, he could comfort, "We're coming for you. I'm gonna be there. Just hold on, Caitlin. Hold on, please."

(And this is how his heart breaks even more.)

He sees her at the station. He's just on the phone with Dr. Wells, insisting that he's going straight to the lab because that's where his mind thought she'd be after her rescue. But she's there at the station with Officer Matthews in the corner, giving her statement and there is a stupid blanket over her shoulders and there's band-aids covering up her exposed legs, and Barry suddenly can't remember how to breathe. Sure, he could barely see her face when all of the officers were passing by one after the other, but he knows it's her.

He knows.

(He'd know that brown hair anywhere, to be honest.)

So he marches forward and he feels like he could be falling right then―just falls and stays there and stare at her―but he doesn't. Instead he has his arms reached out, his steps clumsily stumbling to get nearer and nearer and _nearer_  and he breathes, "Caitlin" and he doesn't even register Cisco coming towards them when she turns around to breathe back, "Barry." before leaping straight into his arms.

He catches her.

"You're here," he whispers when he buries his nose into her hair, ignoring the way her eyelashes ticking against the side of his neck. "You're here, you're here, you're safe. _God_ , Caitlin."

"I am," he hears her whisper a minute afterwards, just when his arms tighten around her, and he nuzzles his face into her hair even more. She accepts it. "Barry, I'm _okay_."

"I know," he releases her then, but cups her scalp with his long fingers in her brown locks, intend to keep eye-contact. "I was so worried," he forces out, "I was so... _mad_. I should've―"

"No, don't do that to yourself."

"But Caitlin."

" _Barry_."

He bites into his inner cheek when his hands fall to his side and his eyes roam unconsciously to take in the minor injuries she might've suffered. He still feels so much. He nearly doesn't know what to do with it. "You could've―"

"But I didn't." She replies, now catching on his knuckles.

He watches her.

(He's so glad she didn't.)

So he hugs her again―doesn't care if it looks weird, doesn't care if it looks overly intimate―but he's got her back. And he needs to realise that fact again. That he's got her back. Safely. Alive.

"Thank you for not coming to get me," she says when her lips grace his ears.

"But I would've." He whispers when he knocks their foreheads together, still insisting on keeping her close. "I would've."

She nods, a soft knowing smile tugs on her lips. "I know."


End file.
